Faramir Fiction Archive

The Healer (NC-17)

Written by Lilith

30 March 2004 | 11127 words

Chapter 9

"I have not visited this place in years," Aragorn said in wonder, as Faramir lowered him to a cot. "The Window on the Sunset."

"Yes, well, we have a short while before sunset, and I must tend to your wounds while there is light," Faramir said, as from a cupboard he took several lengths of clean cloth and a bowl for clean water. At the pile of kindling, he stopped and selected two strips of straight bark before returning to the king.

"Sire, you must get out of those wet clothes and I have to see to your injuries. I'll try not to hurt you."

The king looked trustingly into his eyes, and Faramir almost melted as his feelings of love, protectiveness, and desire mingled. He lightly kissed his forehead before carefully cleaned the gash there. It was quite long, but the captain was glad to see it was not very deep. Aragorn did not flinch as he wiped away the caked blood on his face, nor as he lifted his tattered tunic above his head and cleaned his minor wounds on his arms and back, but when Faramir looked into his eyes he saw a deep unhappiness there.

Faramir longed to give the king comfort, but he knew that the worst was yet to come. He dreaded what he would find when he saw the king's ankle. And it was very bad. He unlaced the king's boots and carefully extracted his swollen foot. Aragorn winced and his face was as pale as before, but he did not cry out. "I need to bind it," Faramir said softly. He removed the king's trousers, carefully sliding them over his injured ankle, and covered the king with a warm blanket before starting work. It took him some time to carefully set the bones in place as best he could and expertly secure the splint. When he was finished, he looked up at Aragorn's face and was shocked to see tears welling up in his eyes.

"My liege, did I hurt you?" he asked anxiously.

Aragorn sighed deeply. "No," he replied in a small voice, "I just feel so helpless and weak. I've never done anything as stupid as this."

"Sire, it was an accident –," Faramir began, but he was cut off.

"No, it was me. It was my arrogance, and it could have ended very badly." He smiled wryly. "Instead of only a little badly like this. Faramir, what would I ever do without you?"

Faramir did not know what to say. Aragorn's voice had a strange sad quality to it, as if it was coming from far away. Faramir did the only thing he knew to do. He undid his own boots and slid onto the cot next to Aragorn. Wrapping him in his arms, he murmured soothing sounds. The king wept quiet, strangled sobs, as if he wanted to release the flood but couldn't let himself. Faramir kissed his brow and smoothed his hair.

"There, my love, sshh…." To himself, he thought, *What should I do? I want to keep holding him, but maybe he needs the healers more?* But Faramir could not have released his hold on the king if his life had depended on it. He was overcome with a feeling of protectiveness, as well as the need to never let go of this man he loved so well.

The king's sobs slowly abated as Faramir gently stroked his back. They lay together for a long time. Finally, the king looked up into his eyes and said miserably, "I'm sorry."

Faramir smiled at that. "No, my liege, there is nothing to be sorry for."

"I should not have cried like that – I don't know what came over me."

"My lord, it was nothing."

"But I am the king. As a ranger I would not have been troubled by this. But as the king, I have become weak."

Faramir was startled to hear these words. He started to object, but the king continued.

"I have aged more in the last three years than in twenty years before. The council will not let me rest, and perhaps they are right. It has been so long since there is peace, and now there is so much to do. Perhaps I should not rest until all is finished." The king sighed. "But I do not object to my duty. I object to my weakness."

"But sire, you are not weak. You are the strongest man I know. You had an accident, it could happen to anyone."

The king shook his head sadly. "No, Faramir, my accident happened because of my weakness. I fell because I was preoccupied with thoughts of you. I wasn't paying attention and I fell off a cliff. How can I be so blind that I cannot see what that means?" He cast his eyes down, away from Faramir's piercing gaze, and said thoughtfully, "I cannot do this alone anymore."

---

Faramir felt like he had been struck by an orc's club. He was the king's weakness. He had become a liability to Gondor.

He had always known this day would come, when the king would finally reject him. When he would see him for what he truly was – a worthless second son of a steward, an inept soldier who failed to hold his city's defences, a pathetic boy who did not deserve love. Aragorn had made him believe he was something more, but he should have known that that would only last a short while. What was he to the king, after all, besides a quick tumble in bed? And obviously the king had tired of even this. The king had another life with his wife, and he should have known that someday he would choose it. And reject him.

---

Faramir squeezed his eyes tightly shut to stop his tears, but could not prevent the shuddering sob that wracked his entire body. The movement startled the king. "Faramir, my dear, what is it?"

Faramir choked back the tears and pulled away from the king's arms. He formally replied, "It is nothing, my lord. I understand."

But the king knew he didn't.

"Just what is it that you understand, captain?"

"What you said, sire. That I have become your weakness. I understand. I will not ask anything more of you, my lord." He rose from the cot and walked over to the thin veil of water that walled the shelter. Staring out, he repeated sadly, "I am your weakness."

A puzzled look crossed Aragorn's face as the words registered. Then he realized what his steward must be thinking, the pain he must be going through. Forgetting his ankle, he started to rise and go to him, only to fall back onto the cot with a shattering groan.

In an instant, Faramir was kneeling by his side. "My lord, stay in bed, I beg of you."

The king smiled. "You see, Faramir, you truly are my weakness." The younger man's eyes narrowed as Aragorn continued. "You see, I would endure any agony to be by your side."

Faramir's face was full of confusion and pain, and Aragorn wanted nothing more than to erase it once and for all.

"I said that I could not do this alone, my dear. Do you not understand what that means?"

Faramir lowered his eyes. His throat tightened and he could not breathe, much less answer, so he merely shook his head.

"You are not my weakness," Aragorn continued, "it is my own arrogance. It is my belief that I can do everything alone. That is why the council comes to me for every silly matter. That is why I left camp without telling anyone. That is why I had no one to save me when I stupidly fell off the cliff.

"I need someone who can help me with these burdens. I need someone I trust. Someone who is noble, peaceful, and patient. Someone who loves Gondor as much as I do." He paused and looked lovingly at the man kneeling beside him. "That is why I need you, my love."

Faramir eyes brightened at the endearment. "You know that I would do anything you wish. You only have to ask."

"Come to Minas Tirith as my steward."

Faramir's eyes warmed as he gazed adoringly at his lover's face. "You know that I will do that gladly, sire, and anything else you ask. You know that you are everything to me, Aragorn. I am nothing without you."

At this, the king reached up to stroke Faramir's face. "Never say that, my dearest love. You are a noble and special man. I am honoured to have your service – and your love." Faramir's protests were silenced by his lover's finger on his lips. "Nay, it is you that are everything to me," the king continued, as his finger slowly stroked Faramir's bottom lip. "I feel that I am only truly alive when I am with you, whether I am in my royal chambers or –" he glanced around the dark cave "—or here, with no comforts but you, my dear Faramir, yes, that is enough to satisfy a king."

Faramir's tongue snaked out to moisten the king's finger. He expertly drew his finger into his mouth, and smiled when he heard a faint moan in response. Lifting his head, he asked, "Is this royal chamber truly enough to satisfy you, my liege, or should I go for help?"

"No!" Aragorn's words came out more sharply than he intended. He quickly looked into Faramir's face to see if he had wounded the younger man, but instead he saw relief.

"No," he repeated gently, "I think there will be plenty of time to be rescued later, don't you?"

---

Faramir's hands slid along the king's thighs until they found their reward. Gently stroking his erection, he felt himself strain against his leggings. The fabric created an exquisite pressure as his cock begged for freedom. He felt the king's hands moving to his back, lifting his tunic along with his eager hands. Then Aragorn pulled him to his feet and untied his leggings. As they slipped to the ground, the king drew his hips toward him and took him into his mouth. Faramir moaned as intense pleasure rocked his body. The king's tongue was sliding up and down his entire engorged length, luring Faramir into deeper and deeper rapture. His body seemed to float weightlessly, held to the earth only by his hands in the king's hair and that wet, hot mouth. He floated up, up, high above the ground, as exploring hands fondled his balls and squeezed the base of his shaft. Up, up, his entire being concentrated in the single motion of being sucked, squeezed, into oblivion. Up, up, higher and higher, until finally he burst tumbling down, his senses crumbling, and he fell into the embrace of the king.

He kissed him then with a passion that he had never experienced before. A passion borne from confidence, from the final acceptance that he was valuable to the king. His hungry lips explored the other man's, and he greedily lapped up the bitterness of his own seed. The taste excited him immeasurably. He realized that he was still hungry, his erection still begged for greater release from this man that he loved.

The king felt his passion. "Faramir," he rasped.

"Aragorn," the young man replied, his voice filled with a mastery that astonished the king.

"Faramir, I –" the king began, interrupted by another foray from Faramir's delicious tongue in his mouth. "Faramir, I want to feel you inside of me. I – I want you to make love to me."

A broad smile crossed Faramir's face. He had dreamed of doing this, of course, but had not believed it would ever happen. If the king's request now startled him, he did not show it. Meeting the king's eyes, he said in measured, masterful tones, "I would be honoured, my lord."

Reaching alongside the cot, Faramir found his pack and removed the vial of oil. Aragorn smiled at the sight and said, "My steward is always prepared." He took the vial from Faramir and motioned for him to sit back. He dipped his fingers into the oil and then took Faramir's hands. After kissing his fingers, he oiled them completely. Then with his own lubricated fingers, he stroked his lover's burgeoning erection. Faramir moaned at his ministrations as his cock grew even larger. Aragorn shuddered in anticipation. He had not been touched like this in years, and had never had another man go all the way with him. His body ached to feel his steward inside him.

When Faramir was completely ready, Aragorn kissed him tenderly and lay back on the cot, his legs spread wide. The steward lifted his hips and slid a rolled blanket under him, relieving the pressure on his ankle while lifting his tight hole to his sight. He wanted so much to take him then, but he remembered the patience the king had always displayed. He would not hurt the king now. With one tentative finger, he probed the king's entry. It was tight, so tight, but yielded as Faramir massaged the muscle. Aragorn's face registered an intense pleasure as he slid a second finger inside, and his gentle motions elicited a deep moan from the king.

"Faramir," he gasped, "I want you, Faramir."

The younger man could not resist the heartfelt invitation. He withdrew his fingers and, ever so gently, approached the king's entrance. Aragorn thrusted toward him at that moment, engulfing him in his tight passage. It took all Faramir's strength not to thrust hard in return. Instead, he drew a deep breath and held still, allowing the king's muscles to adjust to his ingress. He stroked Aragorn's cock, sliding his fingers from the base to the tip in a fluid motion, one slick hand over the next. Seeing the king smile, he pushed farther into the king's cavern. The feeling was intoxicating. He felt himself fill his lover entirely. From Aragorn's moans, he knew he was giving him as much pleasure as he was taking. He drew back and rocked forward for another pass, meeting the king's forceful thrust on his return. Together they rocked, their rhythm building until it matched the beating of their hearts.

Faramir could feel himself building with a power that he had never before felt. It arose from deep inside him, a tiny spark that grew from nothingness to encompass his entire being. The spark released his spirit, and he floated above the bed where two men were making love. A glowing white light surrounded them, and he knew the younger man was pouring his life force from his body into his lover's. He saw the strength and peace flow from one to the other. For the first time, he saw the ethereal ties binding these two men together, and he realized that he loved them both completely.

A demanding feeling in his lower body drew him back from the ceiling into the body of one of the men. He half tried to resist it, to prolong the exquisite feeling, but realized that he was helpless against this power. Finally he surrendered to it, his body shuddering as he was overcome with its full force. Together the men collapsed, sated in each other's arms.

"Aragorn, Aragorn, my love," Faramir cried. He looked deeply into the king's eyes and was overjoyed to see his love returned there.

"How was that, my lord?" he asked, stroking the king's face.

"I love you, Faramir," Aragorn said, tears of joy in his eyes. "I love you more than I ever thought possible."

Faramir lowered his lips to the king's. When he lifted his head, he saw lights dancing across his face. Rippling blood reds, and purples the colour of lilac trees, and sparkling oranges like fruit from Harad. They reminded him of the light he had seen – felt – as he made love to the king. That image was fading, just as these lights seemed to be, and Faramir longed to hold onto them for a moment more. Entranced, he tried to touch the elusive lights, but they danced out of his reach. He was left with the very real feeling of Aragorn's beard in his fingers.

Aragorn smiled up at him, and turned his head. Faramir followed his eyes and a smile spread across his face.

Resting cheek to cheek, the men watched the sun set on the western world.

---

As the last rays of the sun disappeared and shadows filled the cave, Faramir arose to light a fire. He suddenly realized he was famished.

"I have a surprise for you, my lord."

After moving a bench beside the cot, and filling two mugs with clear, cool water, Faramir drew out the food he had packed. Aragorn let out a cry of delight.

"My love, you are full of surprises. This is not the best surprise of the day, but it is welcome."

They faced the west window in a moment of silence before breaking the bread. As they ate, Aragorn asked, "My steward, tell me what are your ambitions."

Faramir thought for a moment before he answered, "I am an ambitious man, although not for myself, as you have probably noticed. My ambition has always been for Gondor.

"I would see Minas Arnor again as of old, full of light, high and fair, beautiful as a queen among other queens. I would see Ithilien once again be the Garden of Gondor. I would see the Fortress of the Stars restored in Osgiliath, and have it be the place of light and beauty and music as Boromir dreamed."

His voice caught as he mentioned his brother's name, but then he continued. "You know that I have never loved the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend. I have ever dreamed of men who crave learning, not for the splendours of the battle but to build their future. I would see Gondor restored to its golden age."

His grey eyes shined as he looked at Aragorn. "This was what I have seen you doing, my lord. The White Tree flowers again in the courts of the kings, and Minas Tirith is alive. For myself, I only want to be useful – to you, my lord, and to Gondor."

"And so you shall be, my steward," the king answered sincerely, "for I do need you by my side."

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